Thinking of You
by Cary Martin
Summary: One Shot BandV. Song fic from Katy Perry's Thinking of You. How Bulma feels with Yamcha when she wants to be with a certain Prince.


My first fanfiction in a long time! Just listening to the song made me think of them. One shot.

Thinking of You

Bulma sat listening to the sounds around her, none making any sense, just white noise. Her hand was in constant motion, swirling the glass of red wine she has been sipping for the past hour. She let out an involuntary sigh and looked up to see Yamcha, smiling and flirting with their overly friendly waitress. But for once, she didn't care, her thoughts were elsewhere.

_Comparisons are easily done  
Once you've had a taste of perfection  
Like an apple hanging from a tree  
I picked the ripest one  
I still got the seed_

It wasn't long before the two paid the bill and were off. Yamcha drove as she stared out the car window. The city had grown and florescent lights filled the streets as people walked in the warm summer air. If only they knew what was going to happen to them in 5 years, if only things could be different.

_You said move on  
Where do I go  
I guess second best  
Is all I will know_

Bulma got out of the car and headed towards the door with Yamcha following close behind her. She didn't at the humming of the gravity chamber – a constant reminder of what she had done, what she desired. She couldn't hide from him, his presence – so she simply had to ignore it.

_Cause when I'm with him  
I am thinking of you  
Thinking of you  
What you would do if  
You were the one  
Who was spending the night  
Oh I wish that I  
Was looking into your eyes_

Bulma's cheeks were flushed as she poured herself another glass of wine in the kitchen. Yamcha chatted with her parents in the living room about nonsense. It through her how all of his words seemed to make her crawl. Yamcha used to give her goosebumps when he would laugh and smile – her desert prince. But lately, he was just there and she kept wishing he would go away. She wanted something more, someone else.

_You're like an Indian summer  
In the middle of a winter  
Like a hard candy  
With a surprise center  
How do I get better  
Once I've had the best  
You said there's  
Tons of fish in the water  
So the water's I will test_

After her third glass she was red in the face. Drowning her sorrow, her confusion, her lust. It wasn't until she heard the door open that she looked up from her glass. There he was – and suddenly, everything was fine. He didn't look at her, simply walked to the sink to pour himself a glass of water. She could smell him from her seat, his sweat mixed with blood – she used to find the smell sick but in her current state found it intoxicating. He didn't speak, or even look at her as he exited and walked up the stairs to his room. She sighed and poured herself another glass.

_He kissed my lips  
I taste your mouth  
He pulled me in  
I was disgusted with myself_

Bulma soon found herself in her own room – Yamcha removed her clothes and kissed her shoulders as he removed her shirt, pants and so on. A shiver went through Bulma, she felt nothing – not a spark. She simply looked at the floor as the man behind her ran his hands up and down her arms.

Bulma closed her eyes as a smile crept across her face. She felt his strong arms around her, his sent filled her nostrils as he laid her down on the bed. She ran her hands through his thick hair and pulled him closer, wanting to taste him more. He was still covered in sweat from his training and was heavy on top of her. She welcomed him and wrapped her legs around him – inviting him in.

"Bulma," and suddenly she was back – Yamcha layed on top of her, panting heavily. A sudden waive of nauisia hit Bulma as she sat up and ran to the other room. How could she?

_You're the best  
And yes I do regret  
How I could let myself  
Let you go  
Now the lesson's learned  
I touched it I was burned  
Oh I think you should know_

The next morning – Yamcha was gone. He had not stayed the night as Bulma had asked him not to. She had to work in the morning, she wasn't feeling well. It changed every time, Yamcha soon accepted it and learned to take would he could.

She sat on her balcony and looked at the gravity chamber in the yard. It hummed loudly, as it had all night and all morning. She found herself often staring at it, remembering the only time she had in there, the moment that changed her, that burned her.

"Vegeta," was all she could say.


End file.
